To Some

To some

reality comes early,

to others

it comes late

 

The lucky

get a pass,

where the facts of life

will wait

 

With truth

backed in the corner,

and fantasy now

to reign

 

No love

to go asunder,

no past relived

again

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

Memories Of Bob

I met him on a summer’s day,

when life seemed very far away

 

A home once mine when as a boy,

I’d lived and loved and searched for joy

 

Twas taken cruelly from my grasp,

the black sheep son, now left askance

 

As I walked past this house so tall,

a dark haired man in t-shirt called

 

“How are you today” he said and smiled,

my burden lightened, my mood beguiled

 

I knew that instant, my Angel named,

and in that moment we friends became

 

With all the magic in his heart

my life rebuilt, he drew the chart

 

For two short years he gave me all,

and fifty more I still recall

 

How at a crossroads he there stood

a lighthouse shining, and always would

 

I owe so much to that young man

who took me in and took my hand

 

And saved me from a life unhinged,

and me a stranger—but not to him

 

Bob may be gone, but deep inside,

his smile stays, his goodness shines

 

If I may live another year,

his words I’ll carry close and dear

 

And thank my Brother from the sun,

—for the grateful man that I’ve become

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February 12. 2018)

      ‘Read At Bob’s Funeral, 2/24/18’

Try To Be Smart

Stop trying to be clever,

and try to be smart

 

The coyote said

to the fox

 

The hunters are coming,

the bounty’s been offered

 

Their traps are all baited

and boxed

 

Stop trying to be clever,

and try to be smart

 

The coyote to the fox

said again

 

There’s a reason your fur

is always in season

 

And mine, never coated

—or skinned

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

                                    ‘For My Grandchildren’

Renewal

Poetic verse, to praise or curse,

its edge to save or wound

 

Now less than dear, on fewer ears,

   whose silence will entomb

 

A finer point, the words anoint,

when fired both straight and true

 

Its arrows sharp, to hit the mark

—the past again renewed

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)

Eight Miles Left

With ten more miles of fence line

my horse wants to turn back

 

There’s storm clouds over the mountain

just a small tent in my sack

 

The fence line sits all busted

from two bulls that went astray

 

They both missed being neutered

last year on roundup day

 

My hands are cold and blistered

that salve jar all but gone

 

Two wolves begin to howling

that lonesome prairie song

 

The storm clouds now have thickened

light pulls its covers back

 

Just one more night on the western slope

—with eight miles left to track

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)

Maria

Our years are fated….

Maria’s allotment was short

But no less special,

Each minute becoming pregnant

With what time would not allow,

Each new hour

Becoming the measuring stick

Of what would never occur

 

In a bed and a room

Where only wishes and dreams

Last

To never grow into memories,

Fate would not permit

Her life to become less precious,

As the deceptive future

Steals tomorrow from today

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

 

 

 

The Angels Dance

Speaking to not one

but the multitudes,

the prophet raised his head

 

And serving up his gratitude,

the starving and hungry

were given bread

 

Starting again

his eyes looked up,

and through a plain white cloth he bled

 

While standing in the same spot

his father had,

and repeating those words he said…

 

   “Don’t worship me,

     Become yourself,

     Divinity, yours at hand

 

     “Wash their feet

   And free your mind,

     Bring peace throughout the land

 

   “Thank not one,

   But all you meet

   For a soul no longer wracked

 

   “And with each new breath

   The Angels dance

   —salvation looking back”

 

     (Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)